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English Roses

by F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward]

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THE THUNDER RAM.

All the winds of earth and heaven
With the lightning for their leaven,
Ready rushed to battle out;
All the angry rolling waves
Tossed abroad like troubled graves,

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Smote in vain her iron snout;
As she forged along the path
Of her predetermined wrath,
Where would be no aftermath
Blown afar in wreck and rout;
For the reaping and the heaping,
If death rode again about.
With the churning of her tread fast
Over billows, stern and steadfast,
Went that prodding iron nose;
Dark and dreadful, in the light
Of its own deep native night,
And that fixed and final pose;
Silent as the foot of fate
In its march of destined state,
Sure, however long or late,
At the glooming of the close;
To the shudder of the rudder,
Sank the sun a bloody rose.
At the throats of hostile thunder
Drave the Death-trap, and asunder
Clove the ranks of ridgèd swell;
While the crimson sweat poured down
Plashing decks, but could not drown
Purpose grim, though hundreds fell;
Splinters flew, and broken spars
Wedded fractured bolts and bars,
Mid a rain of fiery stars—
Howling shot and shrieking shell.
But to glory ploughed the gory
Monster, through that blinding hell.